Classic Cars
by Aibohp
Summary: "The Imp is a wild little thing, dark skin and bright eyes, wild, black hair and silver painted nails that almost glints like chrome in the dim light of the room. Christine isn't much older, just a few years but it feels so much when the Redhead smiles down at her younger companion and curls her fingers into the younger girl's hair, pulling her up for a kiss."


A/n: I don't really know how this happened. I was just watching Christine and thought, "Damn... that is a sexy piece of machinery"... and here we are. If anyone actually finds this I will be surprised.

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The Imp is a wild little thing, dark skin and bright eyes, wild, black hair and silver painted nails that almost glints like chrome in the dim light of the room. Christine isn't much older, just a few years but it feels so much when the Redhead smiles down at her younger companion and curls her fingers into the younger girl's hair, pulling her up for a kiss. So few years apart but it seems like so much… Christine likes them that way, though, and she particularly likes this little Imp.

Her previous lovers kept her well and their love for her was pure… Poor thing has no clue what she's getting into with Christine.

This isn't the first time around the block for either of them.

Christine has had lovers too… Their love was never quite as unspoiled as that which the Imp is accustomed to receiving.

Christine is a Femme Fatale straight off the silver screen. She's dark and her love has always been tainted with obsession and blood.

If she's honest she loves it, loves the darkness and the fanatical devotion and the blood that's always seemed to soak into her hair and skin. Sometimes she wonders if she was ever innocent. She wonders if she was ever a blond haired, blue eyed sweet heart and if the auburn of her hair and the freckles dotting her skin are just stains from the constant spill and splatter of blood that has been shed in her name by foolish men worshiping at her feet and later dying in her arms.

The Imp has her own darkness but hers is well earned, comes springing from a place of purity and love, of doing everything you have to in order to take care of those you love, of being crushed under the somber weight of death, of being the one to hold her loves in her arms and watch the light slip from their eyes. Yes, she's lived in a life awash with blood as well but it's different, more pure, born of love and loyalty.

Christine both envies and loves the girl for it.

It's probably the first time she's ever really loved someone.

Pale hands cradles the Imp's face as she and the older woman kiss, gently stroking her cheeks as they bite at each other's lips and the Imp strokes her hands up her lover's arms. Her fingers stand out in stark contrast to Christine's light skin as they travel up thin arms to a delicate neck. One hand curls around the back of it, the other creeping down to cup her lover's breast through the thin, silky fabric of her dress. The lace of the bra underneath feels rough on Christine's skin as her young lover strokes a thumb over her pebbled nipple.

The elder of the two draws back with a gasp and smiles, pressing her lips to the younger's forehead, pressing her nose into the young woman's thick, kinky hair. It smells like leather, gunpowder, and there's a metallic bite under it… like pennies.

The Imp…. Pala, if one must use her real name… Christine prefers Imp, latches onto the woman's neck, just behind her ear, red hair falling into her face. It always smells more coppery than anything else. Firm hands push her down, though, and she whines, pouting as she looks up at her lover from where she kneels between Christine's knees.

"As much as I would love to keep you here all night we have things to do," The redhead says, rising from the chair she had been in and peering down at the younger girl, stepping around to get in front of her mirror.

Red hair, smoky eyes, pink lips, and a red dress that clings to her curves, a wolf barely concealed in sheep's clothing. But everyone forgets that evil doesn't have to be ugly.

Pala has a grace all her own as she stands.

Black jeans, a leather Jacket, and a Led Zeppelin shirt that's too big for her, the tail tied in a knot to make it fit better. Her boots are silent on the floor as she moves with a predator-like grace. She looks as dangerous as she can be. However, she's inherently sweet and good, a moral compass that gives Christine guidance.

Fin.


End file.
